Skiing Uphill

A couple weeks ago, after my wife and I got back from visiting my sister-in-law, my wife turned on the 2018 Winter Olympic Games in PyeongChang, South Korea.  As my spouse occasionally glanced at the television, she said, "look, they're skiing uphill!"  I responded, "that is called cross country skiing, to which my wife, always a quick thinker, made one of the most understated responses and quick retorts in the history of our marriage;  in a despondent tone she said,"I know.  You made me do it." Those seven words seem simple enough, but I lack the writing skill, if even possible, to properly describe her tone of voice.  I said her response reminded me our youngest son in fourth grade, when asked what causes him stress, he said "piano lessons."  Cross country skiing was to my wife like piano lessons were at younger age to our youngest son.

US Sprint Skiing

The US Women's sprint cross country team unexpectedly claimed a gold medal in a magnificent show not only of racing but of pure guts, last week Wednesday.  Close to, a photo finish, the last few seconds of the call may be one of the best in recent American sport history (view here), although it does not beat out the infamous Al Michaels' "Do you believe in miracles" comment about the 1980 US Men's hockey team beating the Soviet Union.  This is the first US gold in cross country skiing, and the first medal since Billy Koch took the silver in 1976 in a 30 km race.  One can easily understand the excitement of the color commentator when he realizes that for the first time in 42 years the US will win a medal, ,and gold at that in a cross country ski event. 

I recall watching the Winter Olympic games in 1976 and seeing Koch earn that medal.  That is what got me into cross country skiing.  My first trip was on rented skis that February, and after I entered college that fall I bought my pair of cross country skis.  I used to ski quite a bit.  I broke one of my nice wooden skis while skiing with my brother Joe near Conover.  It was a Friday, and so to not spoil our skiing weekend we made a trip to Eagle River where I purchased another pair of skis.  I have loaned those skis, with my original boots, wax, and poles to my oldest son who has now learned to ski.  Unfortunately, one of my old bamboo poles recently splintered. 

US Sprint Cross Country Skier Crossing finish line

It was near Eagle River where my wife recalls her trials with cross country skiing.  I did not know it was a sore spot with her until that Sunday evening.  She had skied downhill, parachuted out of an airplane, and scuba dived, but for some reason never really took to cross country skiing.  She blames it in part on me.  Yes me, for having her start out on non-groomed trails, going uphill.  Many years distant I guess one could say it was like throwing someone who does not swim off the boat and telling them to swim to shore. 

I always enjoyed cross country skiing on self-made made trails. Mine was the old style two track skiing, not the skate skiing that is now so prevalent.  Perhaps my best cross country ski memory was up north near Conover, well before I even met my wife and maybe on the same trip when my ski broke.  My brother Joe and I set out early one very cold morning with light wind to break our own trails through snow many many inches deep. It was at a time, I guess when you could more or less count on snow for the winter.  During this long excursion we found ourselves atop a cliff with a small stream a good distance below, a beautiful scene which made the breaking your own trail well worth the effort.  As we stood atop the cliff to enjoy the scenery, we saw  two bald eagles fly above us and dive down to the stream.  There are advantages to having been off the beaten path.

Three members of US Men's Curling team: (l to r)
John Landsteiner Skip John Shuster, 
Matt (aka "Mario") Hamilton of' McFarland, WI

I have not skied for many years.  My feet have grown at least one size larger than they were when I purchased my cross country gear in 1976, so the shoes would no longer fit. The last time I skied I feel down and three days later was in such severe back pain I could barely operate the clutch of my car.  Time is now quite distant from the day my wife had her cross country ski experience, apparently one of the worst days involving athletic activity of her life, from what she made it sound.  It took about 27 years or more to find out she really did not like cross country skiing.  It also makes me wonder what other activities she has been involved at my urging that she did not like.

US Men's Curling team on the medal podium
In a big oops, four of the five were awarded medals
for the women's team event

At this point, I cannot let a moment pass on the US Men's curling team.  While the Women's Sprint Cross Country ski team took gold, so too did the US Men's curling team.  It was a team that was not supposed to be in the Olympics at all.  After a last place showing in 2014 at Sochi, the US team re-calibrated and formed a high performance team.  None of the four men, or the alternate, on the 2018 gold medal team were invited to to the high performance team.  As they themselves have said, the gold medal team was made of rejects.  With that rejection John Shuster decided to form his own team, and after they beat the high performance team they now had to be taken seriously.  Not only that, after having lost four of six in round robin play they really should never have made it to the medal round.  They needed a sweep of the remaining matches to win gold.  The were able to beat Canada twice, and Canada had won three consecutive golds and before that two consecutive silvers in the Olympics.  Until Saturday in Korea the only medal won by US curling was  a bronze by the men in 2006, a team on which John Shuster played.  Congratulations to skip John Shuster of Superior, WI, Matt Hamilton of McFarland, WI, John Landsteiner and Tyler George and alternate Joe Polo.  Sweden, thought to be the best team in the world, were gracious in defeat, and conceded near the end, with two throws remaining.  To win the US team did something in gold medal play that occurred only once before--scoring five in one end (think inning) of play.  That gave them an insurmountable five point lead.  As my brother Steve had imprinted on the front of his Uncle's Mini-Camp t-shirts:  "It's the size of the heart that matters."  In coming back from such long odds, the US Men's team embodies that statement.

Stories

Over the past several days I read a novel titled Staggerford.  It was the first novel published by Minnesota author Jon Hassler.  The novel takes place over the course of one week in a small fictional community located in central Minnesota--Staggerford. The novel's main protagonist, Miles Pruitt, is an English teacher, primarily teaching senior level English.  Miles has been teaching at the school, from which he graduated, for about 12 years.   First copyrighted in 1974, but first published in 1977, the novel represents a look into the life of a school teacher in a rural community.  While no year is known, I would place the time frame of the novel in the early 1970's.  That may seem, to many, like a long time ago, but I saw it as somewhat of a mirror into the life of my oldest brother who started his teaching career in the early 1970's.  As I was reading the book I heard about the death of my oldest brother and would attend his wake and funeral.  During this time, I could not help but think of the stories in the book, and those that are held in the minds and hearts of each one of us. There are those expressed and those held to the heart.

Cover of Steve's Memorial Card

In the book, Miles Pruitt has had his 114 senior class students turn in a paper dealing with the topic "What I Wish."  During the course of the week covered by the book, the stories of a few of the 114 students are presented.  The book made me think of the life and experiences of an educator.  Each child they deal with has a different home life, and a different set of experiences, good and bad, that go to school with the child.   Just as in the book, a teacher or coach may be the one constant that some of those students have.  At the conclusion of one heartfelt two paragraph "What I Wish" story, Hassler writes:  "No wonder the briefcase was so heavy, thought Miles.  He should have known better than to collect all 114 papers at one time.  The wrongs and losses and near misses of 114 people, when packed together in one briefcase, took on the heaviness and solidity of rock."  So while the student papers of Miles Pruitt "teased him off the road of hope into the gulch of despair" I could not help but think of Steve's wake and funeral.  For you see, wakes and funerals are meant to do the opposite.  The wake and funeral are meant to tease those who loved him out of the gulch of despair, and onto the road of hope.  I hope that  Steve's wife Cathy, and daughters Kristin and Elissa have found the wake and funeral to be of some help in their healing journey. 

Steve's family

A funeral mass provides solace through the Christian grace of a promise of life everlasting; it connects our baptism and death; it is the story of the promise of the resurrection of Christ. It is the personal relationship of the deceased with God.   But, the wake is a different matter.  A wake involves personal relationships with the living recounted through stories.  I was privileged to hear  the stories of a few of the many who came to the wake on a cold Friday night in Fort Atkinson.  What I heard where heartfelt words expressed with true emotion.  There was a woman who described herself, as "just a mom", but wanted to express condolences on behalf of a now grown child who is out of state.  Her son had been coached by Steve, and she said, he learned more than about football.  There was Colton, who described Steve as kinda of tough, but fair and even.  After Colton concluded his statement I thought of the possible apocryphal comment made by Henry Jordan about Vince Lombardi--"he treats us all the same--like dogs." Perhaps this is the same Colton, who was a soccer player, and when about to write on a white-board in Steve's natural resources class, Steve suggested that since he was a soccer player he use a pink marker.  Today's world of political correctness would not find this funny. It did get a big laugh out of the class.

Casket at funeral home

The stories stretched to his earliest days of football.  There were those from teammates in the middle 1960's when he played for Sun Prairie High School.  There were the then boys, now men, about my age, who played for him in the 1970's.  I spent some time in particular talking with two brothers, farm boys, one played for him in 1971, and his brother a few years later.  Heck, there may even have been some who I had to play against when I played with Sun Prairie.  They recounted that even though they played other sports, he was their best coach.  There were the Millennial's who played for him in his last years as head coach at Fort, and those who he coached at Milton.  Their story was the same as those last of the baby boomers.  There were those from two generations of the same family he coached.  There was the man who played for him, and coached under him.  Steve became head coach at Fort after students petitioned the administration to bring him on as head coach.  He had left as an assistant a few years earlier.  Yet, he did not just look to the common or known athlete.  He coaxed persons who had never before played the sports to join. One of these was the funeral director. The success Fort had in football, even after he stopped coaching Fort in 2001, was directly due to his having built not only the high school program, but also the feeder 7th and 8th grade programs.  A bid to play at state ended at the one yard line after the QB (a son of his offensive coordinator) changed Steve's call from a hand off going over the tackle, to a QB sneak in an attempt to get glory for himself.  Steve's call would have worked, Steve said, as he knew the opponents tendencies from film and game experience.  At the time Steve had a fullback who averaged eight yards a carry.

The stories were not limited to old or young men, the story I most recall was from a young lady who indicated that "Mr. Hovel was her track coach."  She went on to say she never saw herself as an athlete, much less doing track, but Steve encouraged her to join the team.  She found in herself, she said, something she never knew and became better for it.  I found it a poignant moment for a person to share with a stranger something so personal. It was indicative of the meaning Steve had for her, and, by extension, to so many others.  What I noticed, through these stories was Steve as an educator and a coach touched the lives of many.  Many of those persons took time to stand in a long line on a cold Friday night to attend his wake.  There is something of hearing these personal connections that provide at least some solace in what is a difficult journey. If you think of history, it is really the compilation of stories.  Facts and figures could be recalled, but they have little meaning without personal connection. 

Seven Surviving Hovel siblings

Many persons attended Steve's wake finding a need to come not to simply express condolences, but to share their stories, in a way to help them deal with his death.  Yet, in so doing their stories allow us, Steve's family, to move from that gulch of despair to the road of hope.   As a teacher and an educator Steve strove to draw out the best in his students.  Those who came to his wake and funeral showed that he had done well the work entrusted to him. There are but few higher compliments to a person than to say: a job well done.  So, Steve, as you see these words from a new perch, let me simply say:  Well done, Steve, well done.

Now we are Seven

Quite unexpectedly, the Hovel siblings are now down to seven.  The recent passing of our oldest brother, Steve has taken the number, originally ten, to now seven.  Unfortunately, it has only been but three and one-half years since the death of our brother John from cancer less than two months before his 62nd birthday.  The first sibling to pass away was our brother Leo, he died after being hit by a car in 1959.  He was but four years old.  History, it is said, is intractable. That is quite true.  The news I received early Saturday morning about Steve having passed away shows not only the movement of time, but more importantly the fragility of life.  Steve turned 70 years of age just over a month ago, and now one less life is to be lived on earth, one less man to fish the clean water lakes of  northern Wisconsin, and one less man to impart wisdom to his family.   If there was a book of traits, and stereotypes common to family birth order, I have no doubt that the traits and stereotypes for the oldest sibling in a family would contain Steve's photograph as its definition.

Steve at Grandparent's farm just north of Sun Prairie, 1949
He began wearing shorts at an early age.
He used wood from the barn in the background to panel part of his basement

As an educator and coach, he not only found the best in himself, but in his students and players. He made the common be uncommon. A testament to a life well lived is how a large number of his past players would help him on his property. He played high school football, was all conference of his college football team at Stevens Point, and was king of the Point Winter Carnival being crowned as such fifty years ago on February 16, 1968.  Showing the ironies of life, fifty years later on Feb. 16 will be his wake.  For many years he played semi-pro football, with games on Saturday night even while coaching and teaching in Fort Atkinson, WI.

Steve visiting his Grandfather Rudy Hovel in Hollywood, FL

I well recall going to a number of his Madison Mustang games on fall nights with my Dad.  They were the kind of nights in the early 1970's true to a disappearing Wisconsin culture.  The field occupied by men who really played for the love of the game and camaraderie (as it certainly was not for the pay), and where the beer and pints liquor freely flowed among family and friends in the Warner Park stands.  A time when a 13 year old would ride home with an inebriated family friend, and end up driving the family friend home on the back roads of the Town of Burke.   Another time I recall my Dad asking a man a couple rows ahead if he could stop with his odd antics, particularly the way the man was affecting a women to his side.  The man, filled with alcohol, started to lunge toward my Dad, but as Dad got up to stop him, the man had better thoughts and pulled away. While Dad was not very large, he did have, as Steve said, strong large hands and forearms built by years of hard farm work. Dad did not need to weight lift, his lifting came through hard work.

Steve and our Mom upon his graduation from Sacred Hearts,
completion of sophomore year

Of course, there was the day after Steve's wedding, a fight between Steve and the next oldest sibling in the back yard.  Dad ran to get his movie camera to record this for posterity, while my Mom was screaming for them to stop.  Welcome to the family, Cathy!  Let me just add, no one wanted to get in the way of those two men having it out, but for the guy with the camera.

Hovel boys (Steve, Joe and Mike) planting the garden

Steve would know about strength, as he was a weightlifter, and I suspect was well ahead of his time as a coach in coaxing boys into the weight room.  My brother Greg, recently told the story he heard from a former Sun Prairie coach of how Steve, a Sun Prairie High graduate, went to the half-time locker room of Sun Prairie when he was a coach with Fort,  to give a pep talk to the Sun Prairie players.  Steve noted, apparently to one boy in particular, that they were losing because they had not spent enough time in the weight room.  One can wonder the expression on the faces of the Sun Prairie players about an opposing team coach coming into their locker room at half to give them a talking to.  Steve had a love of football, and as an all conference guard commanded respect.  As Steve advanced with the game, he still commented on the basic skill set he learned as a player from our Dad who had played guard at Campion High school and college at Marquette.  Being on the team to play in the first Cotton Bowl, Dad had developed skills from the early years of the game, which Steve said he continued to teach in all his years as a football coach.  He retired from being a football coach in 2001. He loved to teach the game, and took special pride when two of his nephews made first team defensive line all conference in their respective conferences in the same year.  Steve taught the nephews at a summer football camp in which he even had T-shirts made to commemorate the event.

Steve, with Cathy, receiving Top-Notch Teacher award
from News 3 broadcasters

After retiring from teaching he got back into the game as an assistant coach for Milton.  A number of family members showed up for a level 2 playoff game when he was the D-line coach for Milton.  Milton would lose to Waunakee (who doesn't), but Steve appreciated those family members who attended.  Yet, his love of football took a toll on his ability to move.  In his later years at Fort, he told me he often had to bike to the practice field as years of being a lineman was hard on his leg joints.  His coaching talent was not limited to football.  He also coached girls track and field.  He was the biggest fan for a daughter who to this day is an avid runner.

Photo at conclusion of Milton-Waunakee level 2 Playoff game

As good as he was as a coach, he was also a teacher.  He was selected by one senior class to give their commencement address.  In late January 2003 he was awarded the Top-Notch teacher award presented by News 3, Madison.  Since he was a biology major and natural resources teacher, and I am a planner who has promoted resource-based planning, our conversations would often turn to the natural environment.  His home site has a nice creek running through visible from his porch, and he was happy to harvest its water cress.  He raised a variety of small animals over time.  Even though one goose went after his nephew, Christopher, he did not blame the goose.  He had a great depth of knowledge from years as an educator, and a life long love of learning. He must have watched University Place on PBS, because he commented with my knowledge of Czech households, I should do a presentation on University Place.

National Guard photo

Steve had a love of the outdoors, and for years made musky lures, giving them the nicknames he had for his two daughters--Fuzz and Wubby.  He was an expert fisherman, who particularly liked the challenge of musky fishing. He was like some of my other siblings who could never really sit still and always had to be on the move if not physically, than in his mind.  I suspect fishing was his way of relaxing and to wind down. I myself never could take to fishing, so I never fished with him.  He also loved wood boats and the related craftsmanship. He took an old boat trailer that was hidden in for decades in the pine trees at the property in which we grew up and rebuilt the trailer.  A nice wood boat now sits atop a trailer.  He said he would sell the boat, but not the trailer.  Perhaps the hard work fixing the trailer brought back memories.  His first car was a 1946 Ford, which he had also begun restoring.

Rebuilt boat trailer

As a football coach, one would not think of him having a tender side.  His tender side, however, was most visible with their little dog Fizzle. A name that well fits that little dog, it was almost like his alter ego.  He had been the past owner of some large Labradors, therefore, so it was quite different to see him with a little dog on which he doted.  A nephew commented on a place for Fizzle on the passenger front seat of his car and asked where Cathy sat, to which Steve simply pointed to the back seat.  Having recently watched the movie "A Dog's Purpose", I can't but help think of Steve and Fizzle.

Stevens Point Winter Carnival article

It was also football that brought about his trait of wearing shorts--even in cold weather.  When I once asked him why he most always wore shorts, he said he wanted to dress like the boys (football payers) dress.  It was probably more related to a mental toughness he had developed in himself and to develop in them.  The last time I saw him, he was wearing shorts on a cool mid-November morning.  As we mourn the passing of a husband, father, and brother, a future is faced with unknowns not before contemplated.  Life can be hard, but Steve, from his years of teaching and coaching, would be the first to say there is a need to move on.  I will miss the stories he had told.  Many of the nephews and nieces were regaled by his stories at John's wake.  His story telling was always good for a laugh or maybe even a cry.  The family of ten siblings is now down to seven. As we mourn his passing, we hold to the memories from the past, and think of what will no longer be, but we also look to the future with a different perspective than perhaps we had last week Friday.

First Five of the  Eight Hovel Boys
L to R:  Mike, Leo, Joe, John, Steve
of the five, only Joe and Mike still live

My sympathy to Steve's family, spouse Cathy, daughters Kristin and Elissa, grandson Keagan, and son-in-laws Jason and Matt.

The Nurse

Last week Wednesday I was on my daily walk, when about half-way through I started getting a great deal of drainage in my throat.  Some drainage, or a good bit, is not unusual for me with the sinus issues I possess, but this was, even for me, excessive.  I completed my walk and headed to a meeting early that afternoon where the drainage and coughing continued.  I then made my way to yet another meeting, and the same occurred.  I got home, and flushed my nose, but the drainage continued.  NyQuill that evening helped subside the coughing.  For the past month I had been flushing my nose daily, but felt good that morning so I skipped the flushing.  

Flu bug

Thursday morning I woke with the drainage and cough and of course went to work, thinking that I came down with a cold.  Now, my wife had been suffering with what was aches and pains the prior weekend, and even stayed home from work Monday.  I asked if she thought she had the flu and should call the doctor. She declined, saying they would not tell her to do anything different.  Well, she probably the flu, but she assured me she was keeping things clean, following up her trips to the bathroom or other areas of the house with a disinfectant spray and use of hand sanitizer.  Thursday, while at work, I felt so bad that I did not even do my daily walk.    Of course, as I left for work that Thursday my wife said to make sure to take a decongestant.  I noted I had a few at work, and would do so when I arrived. Later in the day I receive a text from her asking if I had taken my decongestant.  I said, I just had.  If you know my wife, you can imagine the follow-up texts.  She did admit, that I had her head shacking and I suspect suppressing a laugh with one response I gave--in one text she said something about me not following her directions to which  I followed up with "I know."  She quickly texted back and said that is the response she gets from our youngest son.  

CDC map on the Spread of Flu in first week of Jan.

At the conclusion of the day I headed home.  As I was leaving a co-worker, knowing my wife is a nurse, said, "I hope Toni takes good care of you."  I noted, oh she might, but I will have to wait for her diatribe about me not her following directions to be over first.  Yes the diatribe did occur.  If I thought her texts were forthcoming, the verbal barrage was even worse. For some reason, I don't think she would be quite as harsh on her own child.  Although, he may have a different opinion.  On Friday, I felt sufficiently ill to stay home from work.  My wife was called early in the morning by her boss to see if she could come in early to replace a person who was ill, but she declined saying something to the effect that: "my husband is ill" and without saying, but the clear connotation being "and you know what that means."  It seems that her boss immediately understood and concurred with her comment, the full connotation and all.  Is this an unwritten code among nurses?  Or, perhaps a look into a nurturing attitude that goes beyond the verbal barrage of not following her orders?   I had told my wife that I can take care of myself and she should go in early.  My wife had to point out that of the three main nurses who work for the district (one as a sub) all have husband's named Tom.  Her intent being that we are all alike.  One of those Tom's is a pediatrician.  I like to think I am in good company.  After she left, I went to bed and was about asleep, until I was disturbed by one and then two more times the phone ringing.    After having some lunch I went back to bed to get some rest, but had a restless time as the chills set in.  I was too weak to even want to turn around in the bed to try and blow my nose.  I was taking medication, but it was not doing much good.  That is when my wife arrived home, and came to the rescue supplanting my use of one fever reducer by introducing half-way through a different fever reducer.  Even with the first reducer being taken at 1 pm., I had a fever of 102 at 3:30 pm.  She then ordered me to call the doctor and late in the afternoon they provided a prescription for Tamiflu.  Up until that Friday afternoon, I thought it was a bad cold. I have an aversion to medications, and would never have thought of adding a second type of fever reducer half-way through.  I have come to realize, that sometimes medication does help.

Guesswork?

My own duty nurse in my wife has helped me in other ways.  She heated water and dropped in some essential oils to assist with breathing and my poor sinus situation.  She also made an essential oil mix for me to apply to my sinus areas, and while it may not work, I figure it cannot hurt.  My spouse is a no nonsense sort of person.  However, what occurred to both of us, if at age 60 and in decent health otherwise, we  are affected this much by the flu, what is it like for those that are older or in poor health?  It must be trying.  We both had our flu shot, but the flu going around is apparently different that what was derived for the shot.  The flu's all originate in China or Southeast Asia, and detective and guess work attempts to figure out which one will become prevalent and the flu shot is devised for that strain.  I cannot recall ever having had the flu before, but perhaps I did as a child.  I am just glad my wife was around to help me through Friday afternoon and evening.